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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294680">my world's on fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker'>pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Carole Baskin - Freeform, Hair Dyeing, M/M, Mental Breakdown but Make It Crack, She's on Dancing with the Stars now y'all can you believe, but ended in peak crackhead hours so, that's where we're at, this started out as me throwing my anxiety onto baz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:35:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294680</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is ending but Simon Snow is nonchalantly walking toward the door.</p>
<p>“I think I’m going to pop out to the shop.” He calls over his shoulder, hand already on the knob.</p>
<p>I look up from the newspaper I’m scanning. “Why’s that?”</p>
<p>“We’re out of eggs and butter.”</p>
<p>I’m up in an instant, grabbing my own jumper and reaching around him. “I’ll go.”</p>
<p>“You went last week, I’ll go. I don’t mind.” He doesn’t let me argue, only kisses my cheek and leaves on a promise to ‘be back soon’.</p>
<p>The world outside is ending, and Simon Snow just traipsed out the door as if everything were normal.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>AKA, The One With Baz's Breakdown</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>247</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>my world's on fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/VKelleyArt/gifts">Mudblood428 (VKelleyArt)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so basically, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mudblood428/pseuds/Mudblood428">Vanessa</a> drew <a href="https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/post/628262132612513792/hi-venessa-can-i-call-you-ms-vanessa-its-a">this</a>. </p>
<p>and then i wrote... <i>this</i>. </p>
<p>and i'm.... sorry. </p>
<p>V, i hope this is worthy or at least gives ya a giggle. 💙</p>
<p>many, many thanks to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover">sconelover</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug">Caity</a>, &amp; <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff">Ash</a> for their lovely beta-reading, they were very, very vital to this not being a complete mess i swear.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BAZ </strong>
</p>
<p>The world is ending but Simon Snow is nonchalantly walking toward the door.</p>
<p>“I think I’m going to pop out to the shop.” He calls over his shoulder, hand already on the knob.</p>
<p>I look up from the newspaper I’m scanning. “Why’s that?”</p>
<p>“We’re out of eggs and butter.”</p>
<p>I’m up in an instant, grabbing my own jumper and reaching around him. “I’ll go.”</p>
<p>“You went last week, I’ll go. I don’t mind.” He doesn’t let me argue, only kisses my cheek and leaves on a promise to ‘be back soon’.</p>
<p>The world outside is ending, and Simon Snow just traipsed out the door as if <em>everything were normal</em>.</p>
<p>Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. Maybe the world isn’t <em>ending</em>, necessarily. But it <em>feels </em>that way; it feels like we’ve reached a tipping point that we’ll never come back from. It feels like everything is so far out of my control, from the state of the country, to the state of the world, to the state of our <em>bloody lounge.</em> I can never hope to regain a sense of stability.</p>
<p>Speaking of the lounge, it’s an absolute disaster area. There are dishes piling up on nearly every surface, plates that need scraped and mugs still half-full of tea once believed to be <em>calming</em>.</p>
<p>Nothing’s bloody calming anymore. I can’t even enjoy a crossword without a reminder of <em>everything </em>going on. Even opening up my mobile I’m assaulted with news stories, case numbers, <em>fucking Carole Baskin’s appearance on Dancing with the Stars</em>. I don’t even watch <em>Dancing with the Stars</em>, but Simon and Agatha have started on their weekly video calls.</p>
<p>My boyfriend has started having weekly video calls with his ex, for Crowley’s sake! How is this not the end of the fucking world?</p>
<p>I kick a paper takeaway bag out of my way as I pace across the lounge. Normally I’d try to hide away in a book, put my mind somewhere else, find something else to focus on. Last week I even succumbed to Simon’s pleas to play one of his video games with him. (It wasn’t so bad, but I will never let him know that.)</p>
<p>I feel like I’m out of distractions. I’m out of ways to lie to myself that I’ve not lost complete control of the situation, of every situation. I’ve nothing left to hold onto, except for the warm body of a mug of tea, and even that will grow cold and leave me eventually.</p>
<p>I kick another bag more aggressively, swearing when it topples over and I realize it’s not a takeaway bag but a gift basket Mordelia had sent us. She sent it months ago, at the beginning of all of this. Her ‘Quarantine Survival Kit’. It was mostly filled with snacks for Simon and books for me. I’ve already read through all of the novels, and together Simon and I have eaten a grand majority of the snacks.</p>
<p>There’s something else that’s just spilled onto the floor, a box that I don’t think I saw before. There’s a little note attached, and I read it.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘I hear the best of the gays need this when they’re in distress.’ </em>
</p>
<p>I stare down at the box before making a snap decision.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON </strong>
</p>
<p>I never did learn how to pick out a proper avocado.</p>
<p>It never mattered until I started living with Baz again, and cooking for him. He really likes them, says they’re a good source of protein or some vitamin. I’m not sure. Sometimes when he goes off on tangents about fruits I zone out. Not because I’m not interested, but he’s just so incredibly attractive when he’s going on about something stupid that he’s passionate about. Who really has such strong opinions on <em>avocados</em>? Only Baz.</p>
<p>I try my best to find the ripest one, though, because I want to make something special for him.</p>
<p>He’s been beyond stressed the past week. I think this whole situation has been getting to him. He likes to overthink, and he likes to fight, and it’s all led to him finding things on the internet to overthink and fight about because he hasn’t got <em>me </em>to fight with anymore.</p>
<p>Well, he’s still got me to fight with, but not <em>seriously</em>. We don’t fight as bad as we used to, because now anytime he gets riled up I get too turned on to hold a proper debate. I’m not sure how I made it through seven and a half years without snogging him senseless everytime he sneered at me.</p>
<p>I’ve probably got a problem, being so into the idea of a man being <em>mean </em>to me.</p>
<p>But it’s <em>Baz</em>. And he’s not complaining about the way I put an end to our arguments, so I’m not going to overthink it.</p>
<p>That’s his job. The overthinking. He does it all the time, and he’s been doing it a lot more now that there’s literally nothing else to think about. He’s not in classes and he’s read every book we’ve got in the flat at least twice. I should pick up a couple more books for him, or maybe convince him to stop being so stuffy and just invest in e-books.</p>
<p>Sacrifices have to be made, after all, especially for our own sanity.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p>
<p>My world’s on fire.</p>
<p>My world and my scalp. I’m not sure it’s supposed to burn, but honestly, I welcome the sting. It reminds me that I’m alive, that I have the capabilities of feeling <em>something.</em></p>
<p>If Simon were here, he’d tell me I was being dramatic again. He likes to point out that I’m being dramatic a lot. Half the time it’s for effect, and I tell him as much, and he rolls his eyes in this fond way that he must have learned from me then kisses my cheek and lets me go. The other half… well, the other half of the time he’s right, and I am being dramatic, but I can’t help it.</p>
<p>I think this might be one of the latter, <em>but I can’t help it.</em></p>
<p>Simon’s not here right now. He’s out doing the shopping, even though I <em>insisted </em>that I would take care of the shopping from now on. After all, I’m a vampire. I don’t get sick; I’m immune to the virus itself, even if I’m not immune to the general panic and insanity it brings to the masses.</p>
<p><em>You’re being dramatic, Basil.</em> I try to tell myself this in my best Simon impression. I imagine him fondly rolling his eyes, and then wrapping his arms around my waist—</p>
<p>My phone starts buzzing and I start. The timer’s gone off. I pull my attention back to my head, still itching and burning just a bit.</p>
<p>I hang my towel on a hook by the shower before stepping in. The water warms quickly, streams beating against my back and shoulders as I turn, tip my head.</p>
<p>I focus on the feeling of the water weighing my hair down comfortingly as I lather, then rinse.</p>
<p>It’s almost good enough to clear my mind.</p>
<p>It’s relaxing, at least. Soothing enough as I let the steam seep into me, as I step further back until I’m engulfed by the water falling from the showerhead. The tension melts out of my body and follows the last of the product down the drain.</p>
<p>I take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out, then turn the water off.</p>
<p>Everything comes crashing back down once I step onto the mat and reach for my towel.</p>
<p>Not the anxiety, or the thoughts of how little control I have in this world.</p>
<p>But the weight of my decisions today.</p>
<p>I’m too busy staring at my own reflection, caught up in a swirling cloud of panic that’s edging toward regret, to register the sounds of Simon fumbling into the flat. I half-think that it’s my own brain, fumbling to understand what the bloody hell I’ve just done to myself.</p>
<p>My own face stares back at me, eyes wide and unsure, but more familiar than the hair framing them.</p>
<p>My entire head is a pale blond. I look like bloody <em>Draco Malfoy</em>. A blond, wet rat lusting after a boy I have no chance with.</p>
<p>
  <em>What have I done? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>‘I hear the best of the gays need this when they’re in distress.’</em>
</p>
<p>I look back at the now empty box of bleach, staring at me from the bathroom counter. Mocking me.</p>
<p>You could say, perhaps, I had a bit of a breakdown.</p>
<p>That breakdown is over now, and Simon is home, and I’m finally aware of his presence because he’s behind me, gasping, with his hands clasped over his mouth. I catch his eyes in the mirror, wide, dumbfounded. <em>Amused. </em></p>
<p>My own narrow in response, sneer replacing my own shock as I hiss. “If you tell anyone about this, Snow, I will <em>end you.”</em></p>
<p>We stare at each other in silence for what feels like centuries.</p>
<p>“Baz…” He starts, lowering his hands. I curl my lip in warning, like a feral fucking dog. Because I don’t even know who I am anymore, apparently. “You look…” I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. One bubbles up and out of his throat anyway and I spin around so quickly my towel almost falls from my waist. I grip it tightly in one hand, lifting the other to point in his face.</p>
<p>“Be careful with what you say, Snow, I will not hesitate to leave you.”</p>
<p>“Darling.” I hate how unbelievably <em>soft </em>he sounds, and the way he can weasel into my heart with one bloody word. He wraps both hands around my own, lowering my arm. “You should never leave me, you can’t be trusted to be alone. I was hardly gone thirty minutes when you did <em>this.” </em></p>
<p>I open my mouth to argue, but I have no rebuttal. I have no explanation. I just needed to <em>do </em>something, I needed to be able to change <em>something</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p>
<p>I’m not sure even a perfectly ripe avocado is going to make Baz feel better after <em>this</em>.</p>
<p>I’m trying not to laugh, truly, but it’s just such a stark difference from the usual brooding Basil I’m used to seeing. His dark brows are still furrowed as he frowns at me, and honestly the contrast between his brows and his hair makes me laugh again.</p>
<p>I reach up to touch it. It’s not quite as silky and smooth as usual, I assume because of the bleach, but I twist a strand around my finger anyhow.</p>
<p>“Hey now. S’not that bad, y’know.” I tell him, tilting my head as I continue to take him in. “It almost suits you.”</p>
<p>His face relaxes a bit, one of his brows lifting up toward his bleached hairline. I shrug rather than answer the question he’s trying to ask. “You’re still well fit, nothing’s changed there.”</p>
<p>I know I should be concerned. After all, Baz just sacrificed one of the most important things to him, <em>his hair</em>. But he seems properly regretful now, which I can only assume means he’s better now. Better than he was when he did it, at least.</p>
<p>And it <em>does </em>suit him, actually. The longer I look at him the more I like it. Maybe this could be good, for a bit. Mix things up.</p>
<p>We could all use a little change.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>find me on tumblr: <a href="http://pipsqueakparker.tumblr.com/">@pipsqueakparker</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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